Inanimate
by SilverInkblot
Summary: Chapter Seven: Rip the petals away one by one - and let me show you what you really are. Complete.
1. Mechanical

Tick.

Gears.

Tock.

Metal.

Tick.

That's all he was really.

Tock.

Just a bunch of pieces, artfully put together into a working machine.

Tick-Tock.

Sometimes he admired the Enchantress. Somehow managing to fit each personality in the castle into just the right inanimate object.

Mrs. Potts. Warm, motherly, comforting as a hot cup of tea on a cold winters night.

Lumiere, the flames of his passionate nature far outshining his candles.

Then there was him. Neurotic, orderly, methodical. He was the backbone of the castle, kept it running,  
smooth as a well-oiled clock.

Tick-Tock.

Nineteen years.

Tick-Tock.

Nineteen long years, he had kept count.

Tick-Tock.

15,768,000 ticks and 15,768,000 tocks for each petal that had fallen. Nearly 600 million swings of his pendulum altogether, one after another.

Tick-Tock.

Tick-Tock.

Sometimes Cogsworth thought he could feel his machinery breaking down, running a little slower.  
Every year his secondhand lost a little speed as the spell began to settle in permanently, obliterating hope and wilting the rose.

Tick-Tock.

Slowly, slowly.

Tick.

Slower.

Tock.

Slower.

Tick.

Stop.

Tock.

And another petal fell from the rose. 


	2. Luminous

_Well, Mechanical was subjected to such high praise, I thought I'd give this another go. I don't belive it's as good as the first, but still worth sharing. Review to tell me if you want me to do the other characters as well_

* * *

The castle was dark. Closed curtains, dimmed torches, surrounded by black woods. Sometimes the darkness seemed to be closing in, enveloping him in its suffocating grip. Some days, it seemed even the gentlest of breezes could snuff his flames out.

It was tough to be a candle in that kind of atmosphere.

He had to be strong for the other residents. He had to be brighter, brighter to keep the darkness at bay.

. . . Candles were fragile. He had never realized it before. They were romantic accessories, light sources. They set a mood. Flickering flames, dancing on their wick, casting long shadows on the wall. They were never objects of any consequence.

Then again, he had never expected to become one. To be an object of light and warmth in the cold darkness of the castle.

At first he tried to be optimistic. He burned his flames as bright as he could for as long as he could. He nearly burned himself out completely with false cheeriness and discovered just how quickly wax melted. Apparerently, even enchantments had their limitations. Over the years his light had dimmed with the falling petals.

But he made sure to never let it go out. Because Lumiere was terrified of the darkness. He was afraid of losing that spark. That last vestige of hope. It was up to him to keep something burning, to keep something alive in the hearts of the servants.

Even if it left him with no light at all.

* * *

_Owning nothing. - SilverInkblot_


	3. Comforting

The sight of steam billowing from the nose of a tea kettle puts the world back at rights. The whistle calls for a nice sit down with close friends, warm tea in dainty china teacups, and a light snack in the parlor with the drapes open, embracing the sunshine of the day.

_Good morning ladies, Tea?_

The parlor couches hadn't seen the light of day in over nineteen years.

_Lovely day, isn't it? Such nice weather._

The only whistling the castle heard came from the wind, or from Lumiere, occasionally finding enough spirit to flirt with the castle girls when the Master wasn't around.

_And how is your son doing Mrs. Potts?_

But tea was tea no matter where you drank it, just like mothers were mothers no matter where you found them. Mrs. Potts was always busy, always had a job to do, and being a teapot didn't change that one bit. There were dishes to clean, servants to keep occupied, spirits to lift, a Master to keep in line, and a son to chase after. Like the object she embodied, Mrs. Potts only whistled under pressure, and offered comfort in a warm drink to the weary.

_Oh, waht a wonderful hat you're wearing Mrs. Jenkins! Do tell me where you bought it!_

No teapot ever had a more tiring life.

**_And if the steam runs out, then where will she be?_**

In the parlor no doubt, embracing the light of hope wherever she could find it.

_Have a cup of tea now dear, and whistle all your troubles away.

* * *

_

_There. Much better than the last chapter, which I still may rewrite._

_This was a good chapter for me to write, got me right back into the swing of things. So much so, that I wrote a second chapter as well : ) But we're going to save that one for later. The last chapter, in fact. I'll think my readers will find it very special. _

_Standard disclaimer for all material. Standard excuse for the long wait. Standard request for reveiws. ^^  
_


	4. Shattered

His mother worried about him endlessly. _Magic enchantments just couldn't be good for a growing boy_, she said. _If he falls from a high place, he could break_, she said. _You must be very careful now Chip darling_, she said.

And the truth was, he didn't need to be told at all.

He remembered once, a few years ago, he had accidentally broken one of the teacups. It slipped off the little platter he was carrying to a castle guest and splintered into sharp pieces on the hardwood floor of the castle.

It had been a white teacup, with little pink and lavender flowers around the top rim, and a delicate curved handle off to one side. There were a million of them in the castles many cabinets.

It had been a teacup of absolutely no consequence.

He felt terrible.

To fall, and to shatter, and to be left in little pieces. Surely there was no worse fate for a teacup.

He wanted to run, and play, and shout like the little boy he was.

_But he had no legs to run with, and was too afraid of breaking._

So he stayed close to his mother, and did as she said, and jumped one space at a time when in high places.

_And something inside shattered into a million tiny pieces._

_

* * *

_

Eh. I don't care for this chapter so much. Oh well.

Standard disclaimer, as usual.

- SilverInkblot


	5. Playful

He was just a dog. The world was far too big and complicated and he was far too small and it was all just beyond his understanding. Sleep and eat and play. That was all he knew of life and it was good enough for him. Magic enchantments didn't change anything about him except his shape.

But even dogs have empathy. He could sense the feelings of despair in the other residents, and it affected him. No one wanted to play with him anymore. Even the little master had moments of immense sadness.

Play. That was what he understood.

Fetch the ball. _Get them to smile again._

Chase the cat. _Distract them from their sorrow._

Bark. _Make them laugh again._

Roll over. _Bring back the memories of happier times. _

Just a dog. His place was at his human's feet - sitting near or underneath, it didn't matter.

_Keep playing and running and barking. Keep them smiling._

_And forget about your sadness for a little while._

_

* * *

_

I like this chapter, even if it was difficult to get inside the dog's mind. Firstly, because he isn't human, and secondly due to the circumstances. Hope this one is a nice little surprise for everyone.

- SilverInkblot


	6. Commonplace

The castle had always kept a veritable army of cleaning staff. The vastness of the building required much care and devotion from its keepers. As soon as all the rooms had been cleaned once over, it was time to start back at the beginning again. The floors had to be kept constantly shiny, swept, mopped, and waxed, for the vanity of the Master extended to his property as well. The staff were to keep out of sight; invisible servants, to be used and not seen.

For Babette, her alternation had affected little about her duties. Another servant in another uniform in the service of another rich master. One more face in the multitude. What did she matter in this castle?

Perhaps this was why she had always taken such pride in her appearance. Yes, her maid's uniform had always cut a most shapely figure indeed. Her pretty features were framed by the short hair required of all the castle staff, and she danced slightly as she swept away the dust from the castle rooms.

But objects often wear out faster than humans. Occasionally a feather would pluck loose from her transformed self and she would wipe it away with the rest of the dust, promising herself she wouldn't cry. What was it to her? Just another feather in the multitude.

* * *

_Eh. Don't care for this chapter so much either. I'm still hoping to make this ten chapters, so do stay tuned. _

_ -SilverInkblot_


	7. Beautiful

_I wanted this story to have ten chapters. But I've decided to accept (for now) that it's not to be. Standard disclaimer applies as usual._

* * *

A flower didn't ask for much.

A patch of sunlight, a little water, a little of your time, to grow and to blossom. And see how your efforts are rewarded, with a tiny masterpiece of nature. A life in miniature, all dressed up with no way to go anywhere, unless pulled from the only home ever known.

This was what the Rose had been, a living, breathing work of art, now reduced to floating mystically inside a glass jar, not truly alive, but slowly, slowly, dying, dying, _dying_ all the same.

Clocks?

Candlesticks?

Teapots?

Inanimate _**things **_given the sparkle of life, an existence to call their own, an energetic presence that a rose could not have, _**should**_ have, for she was the only one that had truly been alive. And see how carefully she had chosen her petals, and how striking her posture was, and how thoroughly she had sharpened her thorns like the claws of her Master, so only the bravest suitor would be worthy to pluck her exquisite beauty.

See how the glow of magic only saturates her already perfect existence.

See why the Enchantress chose her to count down the years.

See the vanity that lies underneath her picture perfect petals, veiling her jealous being. Watch the petals fall away like teardrops, revealing the authentic interior with such cold honesty, for roses have no love of winter's icy breath.

Beauty and the Beast, perfectly matched, and perfect for each other.

See them as they are.

See them wither, all, all alone in their despair.

Until the petals fall away at last.

* * *

_This is easily my personal favorite chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I feel like it's a unique viewpoint that isn't seen very often; maybe not at all. Please enjoy, and do tell me if anything like this has been done before - I'd love to read it. _

_-SilverInkblot_


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